'Ten minutes, Tilly. I'll be there.'
He was exhausted by the effort of restoring enough size to the Stone to allow him to transcribe the inscriptions and then shrinking it again for concealment, but the pleasure of discovery had kept him working, for now – and helped him ignore the tell-tale tenderness of his gums, another symptom of bodily dissolution.
Already his studies with Professor Mansfield were proving valuable. The Rashid Stone was definitely a treatise on magic; he'd managed to puzzle out some references to light magic, healing magic – and death magic.
Aubrey needed more time, but he thought he had some hints toward a solution for his condition. Hints, clues, suggestions – but he needed more time to be sure what he was finding.
He jotted down a few last notes from the central section of the Rashid Stone. It dealt with urbomancy, which apparently was concerned with collections of humanity and accumulated consciousness. Some of the references were disturbing, hinting at animating entire settlements, but most of it remained unclear. He'd searched through a number of reference texts before he found even the slightest mention of it, but it was singularly unhelpful, simply noting it was a 'minor, and forgotten, art'.
The trouble with having a well-developed sense of curiosity was that it made researching difficult. Sidetracks and byways opened up all over the place, beckoning alluringly.
Aubrey's curiosity couldn't let such a tantalising description pass. It was so curt, so dismissive that he wondered what was going on. Even with the little information he had, the field sounded intriguing and, unless he was mistaken, could shed some insights into the nature of magic itself. Numbers of people coming together was the beginning of true magic. Surely urbomancy was a part of this? He sat back and linked his hands on his chest, thinking.
His research into his condition had brought him to many arcane and recondite texts. He'd become attuned to scholarly arguments over fine points of magic, or interpretations of fine points of magic.
He'd also stumbled on areas that were best left alone – according to learned opinion. Death magic's perils, for instance, were well known and highlighted in many, many texts.
Another way, however, to steer the foolhardy away from dangerous areas of magic was to pretend it didn't exist – or was only of minor, boring importance. This was never the result of anything formal – Aubrey snorted at the idea of a Council of Wizards controlling magical research – but a consensus was nevertheless reached among like-minded scholars.
Was urbomancy one of these areas? If so, why?
Frowning, he tapped his pencil on his teeth. The Rashid Stone was proving to be a treasure, but a frustrating one.
AUBREY ADMIRED HIS FATHER'S CONSTITUTION. WITH NO sleep, after a night of political push and shove, Sir Darius looked as if he was ready to swim the channel.
When the maid had closed the door behind her, Sir Darius leaned back in his chair and eyed Aubrey. 'Rokeby-Taylor. Count Brandt. Dr Tremaine.'
It was a hot chance, but Aubrey took it with both hands. 'You're asking if there's a connection.'
'I could be suggesting that there is a connection but I don't know what it is.'
'This is what Cabinet was discussing?'
'We were discussing the Holmland situation in more general terms, but those names kept coming up. Then I had some time with Craddock and with Tallis where they came up again.'
'And I imagine that those conversations were separate.'
'I did my best to make sure that each didn't know about my chat with the other. No guarantees there.'
'Of course not.'
'I need your insight here, Aubrey. You're bound up in all of these goings-on and you might be able to shed some light. The others are all protecting their little areas. Too much posturing for my liking.'
'I'm happy to help, sir.'
'I don't doubt that.' For a moment, Sir Darius smoothed his moustache thoughtfully. 'But before we go any further, I need to know if you have any knowledge of a ruction at the museum early this morning.'
Aubrey should have known his father would have heard. 'I may have.'
'I see. You were out last night, I take it?'
'Yes.'
'Without Caroline and George?'
'I had Mother with me.'
Sir Darius's gaze instantly became intense. 'Tell me about it.'
Aubrey was in agony as he sorted through the implications of this simple request. 'I don't think I can.'
'I beg your pardon?'
'If you know about it, you might have to do something. Or tell someone if they ask you about it. But if you don't know, you can't. And they won't know if you don't know.'
'That, surprisingly, makes sense, but I'm not sure I agree.' Sir Darius scowled.
Aubrey remained silent.
'I see.' The pause that followed this statement weighed more than a hundred Rashid Stones. 'You were with your mother, you say.'
'Yes.'
'And she and you are safe and – perhaps just as importantly – unidentified?'
'Yes and yes.'
Another massive pause pressed down on Aubrey as his father scrutinised him. 'At an appropriate time, you will tell me, both of you, what happened.'
Aubrey sighed with relief. 'Naturally. In full detail.'
'And I'm sure I don't have to tell you that it would be most awkward if any missing treasure that belonged to another nation was ever found in the Prime Minister's own residence, do I?'
Aubrey thought of the fish tank in his room where he'd buried the dimensionless, weightless Rashid Stone: right next to the Roman fragment, outside the octopus's lair. 'It would be improper.'
'Let us move on, then,' Sir Darius said. 'Now that we understand each other. At least, you understand me – I hope. I'm not sure if I'll ever claim to understand you.'
'Sir,' Aubrey said. It was a meaningless response, but it filled in the gap in the conversation nicely.
'I know you keep an eye on the bills moving through Parliament. Has anything pricked your interest lately?'
'The battleship bill. You're voting on it later this week.'
'And why are you interested?'
'Rokeby-Taylor. Five new battleships and his shipyards are in a good position to win the contract, once Defence has been allocated the budget. He's been taking on new magical experts, Holmlanders this time . . .'Aubrey's voice trailed off.
'Go on.'
Aubrey threw up his hands. 'Rokeby-Taylor is everywhere I turn these days! His companies are cutting corners, a menace to the public. He's well connected, well thought of, has his fingers in dozens of pies. Dozens of fingers.'
'Just the sort of person who would be an excellent enemy agent.'
'I'd thought of that. But just because he's a bounder, it doesn't make him a traitor. Does it?'
'I'm not sure. You saw that he wanted to borrow money from me. I've found out that his financial position is even more dire than he'd let on. This sort of leverage is gold for enemy intelligence operatives.'
'But the battleship contract! Rokeby-Taylor would make a fortune and it would put a dent in Holmland's naval ambitions at the same time. He'd be a hero, not a traitor. Unless . . .'
'Yes?' Sir Darius raised an eyebrow.
'He takes Holmland's money and the Navy's money, builds the ships but does something to them? Sabotages them?'
'Who'd be in a better position?'
'You know him best. Would he stoop to something like this?'
'He dearly loves his money. Or the life it buys him, anyway. Could he be tempted? Yes. Would he betray his country? I don't know. Would he risk his own life to do so? Almost certainly not. Remember how dismayed he was when the Electra sank.'
'Dr Tremaine,' Aubrey said, almost without thinking about it. 'Once you bring him into this equation, everything changes.'
'Ah, the elusive Dr Tremaine.'
'If he has a hold on Rokeby-Taylor, it changes everything.'
'But what sort of hold? More than blackmailing him over money?
'
'Something magical.'
Aubrey tried to recall his meetings with Rokeby-Taylor. There was something about the man that had prodded his curiosity, even then. But Tremaine's hold couldn't be something as trifling as a poison administered and an antidote withheld. It would have to be something that worked on Rokeby-Taylor's weakness, something that could be exploited.
His greed.
'Supposition,' Sir Darius said. 'We have no proof, only suspicions. Clive's turning up at every inconvenient point, his uncharacteristic philanthropy –' 'Count Brandt's Holmlanders. Are they of interest, too?'
'Yes, but not in the same way. From all reports, they're genuinely opposed to the present Holmland government. Brandt would like us to consider them an opposition in exile, but their organisation is too haphazard to deserve that.'
'And Rokeby-Taylor's supporting them financially.' For a moment, Aubrey wondered at Rokeby-Taylor's source of funds. If his companies were doing as badly as it seemed, then where was the money coming from?
'Or supporting someone financially,' Sir Darius said. 'It seems as if Brandt is channelling much of the money he receives to the Circle, this mysterious opposition group in Holmland. I'm very nervous about this.'
So was Aubrey, but it was well down the list of things to worry about. 'What about Craddock and Tallis? What's going on there?'
'Rivalry. There's no more powerful motivator when people reach a certain level, unless it's naked ambition. Of course, the two often go hand in hand.'
'They're not traitors?'
'Craddock and Tallis? Traitors?' Sir Darius's laugh was sour. 'I'll warrant that both of them suggested that about the other. Tallis, reasonably bluntly. Craddock, so subtly that you hardly noticed at the time.'
'They're valuable men.'
'In their way. But they must put aside petty jealousies like that. It's time-consuming and very, very dull.'
Aubrey bit his lip. 'I've heard that the Magisterium might be conducting research.'
'Who better to research magical espionage issues?'
'But isn't it against their charter?'
'Not any more. We changed that months ago. Didn't make any sense to stifle their investigations like that.'The front doorbell rang and he stood. 'Thank you, Aubrey. This time was useful.'
'Wait,' Aubrey said. 'I'm sorry if I sound suspicious, sir, but did Commander Craddock suggest you talk to me?'
'Craddock? No. I do have my own thoughts occasionally, you know.' Sir Darius studied his hands for a moment. 'Your conduct lately has been impressive. I can talk freely with few people, and few of them have your acuity and incisiveness.' He looked at his wristwatch. 'I must go. I have a meeting with the Minister for Defence.'
With Dr Tremaine still unaccounted for, Aubrey was very uneasy. The rogue magician had shown in the past that he was willing to strike at the Prime Minister and events seemed to be coming to a head. 'Be careful.'
'Don't worry. Stubbs will be driving me.'
'He'll be . . . well kitted out?'
'It's the wisest course of action for now. You can reassure your mother of that.' He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. 'I've asked Tallis to make sure his men are extra alert in guarding this place for the next few weeks. They're also keeping an eye on Ophelia Hepworth's flat. I thought you might like to know that.'
Aubrey had much to think over after his father left, but he had no time. George bustled in. He was red-faced, dressed in the same clothes as when Aubrey had seen him last. He had his cap scrunched up in one hand. 'On your feet, old man. Jack Figg's here.'
'George, when did you get here? How are things at home?'
'Just now, and no good news at home, I'm afraid. Come on, I think Jack has something important to tell us.'
'Jack can wait. In fact, the whole country can wait. What aren't you telling me about your father?'
George sank into a chair. His attention was entirely on the cap he now held in both hands. He wrung it back and forth, back and forth. 'It looks as if the farm is gone,' he said softly.
'What?'
'The bank marched in on Friday and demanded immediate payment. Father couldn't, of course. He was left with no choice but to sign it over.'
'But that land has been in your family for generations!'
'Funny, that didn't seem to make much difference to the bank manager.'
'But what happens now?'
'The land, the house, the stock will be auctioned off in a few weeks. If there's any money left over after paying the bank, we'll end up with it. I think Father would choke before he took it.'
'Your mother will take care of any money,' Aubrey said absently. 'But how did this happen?'
'Bit by bit, really. Like a boat slowly sinking – when we noticed, it was too late to do anything about it.' George gave his cap a particularly vicious wrench. 'Father says they'll have to come to the city. He'll look for some sort of job.'
Aubrey felt a stab in the heart. 'And you?'
The hat wrenching stopped, but George didn't look up. 'I'll have to leave college, of course. Get a job, too.'
'No,' Aubrey said. 'I'm sure we can do something.'
'Father won't allow it. Pride, remember?'
An enormous hollow opened in Aubrey's chest. He felt as if his entire being could cave in and disappear at any moment. 'George, this is horrible.'
'It's a nightmare.'
'What happens now?'
'I don't know. But I know what won't happen now. Aubrey Fitzwilliam won't ride to the rescue.'
'Even though I could.'
'That's right. This has crushed Father. Accepting help would destroy him.'
George stood. Then he shook himself, like a dog emerging from a river. 'Let's go and see what Jack wants. If we're lucky, we can head off and do a spot of saving the country. It's just the sort of thing I need.'
Jack Figg was waiting in the drawing room. He'd just finished blowing his nose and when the handkerchief disappeared into his pocket it was plain he was in a state of shock. His hands shook until he clasped them together. His face was pale. 'I have word of Maggie and her Crew,' he said in a trembling voice.
'Did you call the police?' Aubrey asked.
Jack gathered himself. 'Police? What do you think I am? Cooperating with the bully boys of the establishment? Not on your life.'
Aubrey sighed. Jack Figg had a whole hive of bees in his bonnet, police being one of them. At times like this it didn't make things any easier.
'As much as I'd like to discuss the proper role of law enforcement in a civilised society, I gather that time is an issue here.'
'Where is she?' George asked.
'She's at the clinic.'
MAGGIE LAY ON THE HOSPITAL BED, PALE AND SHAKING, eyes closed, moaning with pain. Her hospital gown was soaked with sweat.
'I've never seen anything like it in my life,' Dr Wells said. He pushed his glasses back on his nose and looked for something to do with his hands. He finally stuck them in the pockets of his white coat and frowned at his patient.
'What's caused it?' Aubrey asked.
'Nothing natural.' Dr Wells mopped at the young girl's brow with a flannel, but it caught on the wire protruding from her temple. With extreme delicacy, he detached it. 'It must be magic. The wires are all through her body.'
Aubrey's whole being wanted to crawl away from what he was seeing. He heard a whimper and he hoped it wasn't his.
Maggie had been transformed. Hundreds of bright copper wires stuck out of her skin in horrid profusion.
Many were at her joints – elbows, knees, shoulders – but just as many were in random clumps, bursting out of her neck, her feet, her hands. Wires snaked around from underneath her, and it made her look as if she were lying on a bed of metal straw.
The skin around the wires was red and angry-looking, but it wasn't bleeding. It appeared to have closed up around the wires, giving the appearance of the metal belonging there, a natural – if hideous – growth.
The loose ends of the wir
es were twisted, some were knotted, and all showed signs of having been broken or snapped off.
'This is ghastly.' George's face was pale. 'Can you do anything, Aubrey?'
'I can't. But I know who might. She must go to St Michael's Hospital. They have some of the new X-ray photography machines and some fine medical magicians on staff.'
George swallowed. 'But how did this happen? Who did it to her?'
Jack Figg hadn't said anything since they'd entered the small, brightly lit ward. He wiped a hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew, but he didn't seem to notice. 'She staggered into the Society for Moral Uplift, delirious. She collapsed and we brought her here.'
'Did she say anything? Anything useful? Where has she been? Where are her Crew?' Aubrey asked.
'She mumbled about the underground, tunnels, the hydraulic railway. And the dark. She's afraid of the dark.'
In a dreadful, jerky movement that set them reeling backward, Maggie sat up. Her eyes flew open. Someone gasped.
Her eyes were glazed and feverish, heavily bloodshot. She stared straight ahead, seeing something that wasn't there, while wires sprang back and forth. They caught on bedclothes and wafted in the air like seaweed on a drowned corpse.
'The dark,' she grated, in a voice that was thick and pained. 'Don't go down where the dark is.'
Aubrey was the first to recover. 'Why not, Maggie? What's down there?'
'The dark is down there. It's down there everywhere. It's alive.'
'What is?'
'Darkness. Power. Darkness.'
Her teeth clicked together and she spasmed, hurled backward by the force of the seizure. Wires clashed and tangled and Aubrey was astonished they didn't tear out. Ignoring any sharp ends, Dr Wells took the young girl's shoulders and held her to the bed. 'Leave,' he snapped over his shoulder. Aubrey and the others hustled for the door with no pretence of hesitating, only to find Caroline Hepworth hurrying into the clinic.
Aubrey was brought up short. 'Caroline! How did you know we were here?'
'Harris told me.'
'We've found Maggie,' Jack said abruptly. 'But don't go in there.'
Aubrey flinched. Jack hadn't had as much to do with Caroline as he had. Telling her what not to do usually wasn't productive.
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